


A Conversation in the Yellow Drawing-Room, And Other Letters To Mrs Strange

by Dancingsalome



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: F/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-02-15 23:43:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13041996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancingsalome/pseuds/Dancingsalome
Summary: Lady Pole writes a letter to her friend Mrs Strange about an unexpected encounter.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosedamask](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosedamask/gifts).



> Dear rosedamask,
> 
> This fic was written for you as a treat for Yuletide 2015. But I ran out of time, and instead of posting it to the New Year Resolution, it slipped my mind. It was found when I was sorting through my files, and here it is, a few years too late. I hope this is still a fandom you enjoy.
> 
> Thanks to Kate Nepveu for beta.

Dear Arabella,

I trust you will not be affronted if I don’t spend many words on asking how you are though I am of course wildly curious. I will expect a long missive from you describing everything in great detail. But such a peculiar incident happened to me today and I need to put pen to paper because I feel very confused. I am sure you will come to my aid with your usual sensible and thoughtful advice.

It was well past visiting hours, and I was busy going through my wardrobe with Pampisford. She’s assured me fashion will shift soon and the high waists of the past decades will move to a more natural position. She also tells me it will be a lot more flattering for a lady past her first youth. Meaning me, I suppose. I don’t feel old, having had so many years robbed from me, but I am nearing thirty and in the eyes of the world I am practically ancient. All the gowns I own were picked by my mother when I was either too ill to be bothered or too lethargic to care due to those horrible nights dancing in Lost-Hope. I don’t care for any of them now and I am quite eager to figure out what my own taste is. I think I will have my new gowns cut a little longer in the bodice and in the warm colours of autumn. Either I will be a laughingstock or I will set a new fashion though in truth I do not care which.

But I digress. I was quite absorbed in the important task of choosing suitable fabrics when it was announced that “an individual” was asking to see me. The butler, though not as admirable as Stephen, is still an excellent man; from just those two words I understood he was shocked this person had used the main entrance and was not, in his opinion, someone I ought to receive. I instantly said I would see him in the yellow drawing-room.

And who do you think it was? It was that strange man Childermass. I had not seen him since the day my thralldom in Lost-Hope ended. He was somewhat (not much) better dressed, but he still had very queer eyes and hair worn like a black waterfall around his shoulders. When I saw him last there had been a terrible wound on his face, now it had healed and formed a silvery white scar on his cheek. I used to hate him very much, but then he brought my salvation and now I don’t know what I feel. But between you and me, my dear friend, I think he has more than a little fairy blood in him and a great deal of very strong magic.

I had no idea how to greet him. For all his entanglement in both my misfortune and my fortune, I have only ever said a handful of words to him. And somehow my governess never taught me how to properly address a man you have almost killed.

“Lady Pole”, he said abruptly without no pretence of grace or polite observations about the weather. “I have come here to offer my help.”

I don’t know what I had expected from him, but it was certainly not this.

“I thank you Mr Childermass,” I said. “But I hope you don’t find me rude when I say I do not need any aid from you.”

He looked at me with his strange dark eyes and it made me feel very odd. 

“I think you may.”

“How do you know? Have you been spying on me?”

I felt quite upset. I remember how you told me of the trick Mr. Strange used to do at parties; how he could conjure up a vision of what a person was doing, as real as life, in a bowl of water. It always struck me that a person lacking in morals and respect; someone unlike your husband, of course, dearest Arabella, could use that spell to learn to spy on a lady. Without her ever knowing, the most intimate secrets could be revealed!

But Mr Childermass shook his head. “No, the cards told me.”

He reached into a pocket and removed a small stack of paper, which he gave me. I noticed his hands were very clean and his nails well-kept. The cards were quite interesting. They were crude, drawn on a variety of paper like bills and old receipts. The drawings were made by an untutored hand, but not lacking in raw talent, and despite their simple look I found them compelling. As I held them, I suddenly had a vision of Mr Childermass sitting at a table at, what I surmise, must have been a tavern of the rowdier sort. He was busy drawing the cards, badgering the drunks around him for paper, but otherwise not bothered by them.

It was a very brief vision, perhaps a second or two, but Childermass raised his head and stared at me, though when he spoke again he did not ask me about it.

“I can show you how. ”

It was tempting, but I shook my head and gave him back the pack of cards, and he shrugged and put them inside his pocket. I felt calmer, though. I doubt anyone could discern a lady’s intimacies from these ragged cards, however talented a magician.

“What kind of danger do you believe I’m in?”

“Few has spent more time in Faerie than you. There is a lot of fairy magic about your person, you almost glow with it, and it has marked you for those who can see it.”

“I have no interest in magic.”

He looked sceptical at that, but then he shrugged again before I could deny it more forcefully. 

“And still you can tell a magician from the common man with just a glance?”

I nodded, and he continued.

“It is a good thing, because you have been turned into a beacon, drawing magic to you regardless if you wish it or not. I think it could be very dangerous for you. Someone may be attracted to you who comes filled with malice and a wish to be hurtful.”

I felt a cold trickle down my spine. The horror of once again being the centre of attention from such a creature as the Gentleman is a nightmare which has afflicted me again and again since I gained my freedom. (Dearest Arabella, I hope you are not affected by such dreams, though I fear I hope in vain.) I looked at Childermass and wondered if he had really come as my friend or if he would prove to be one of those evil beings he mentioned. But then I thought how he and Mr Segundus came to my rescue and decided I could trust him.

“And that is why you are here?”

“It is.”

I don’t know what came over me, but his manner, though not at all gentlemanly and rather brusque, made me feel completely at ease and rather bold too.

“You are a magician, Mr Childermass. Are you attracted to me?”

“Lady Pole, you are a woman of great beauty- would that not be enough to captivate any man?”

“I don’t believe it would be enough for you.”

And I truly didn’t believe it. Most men fall in love with beauty or money and though I may sound conceited in saying it, I know I possess both. But I don’t think Childermass is an ordinary man, and I wondered what kind of woman could catch and hold his attention.

“That is true, my lady.”

“And you still haven’t answered my question, I notice. Are you trying to evade me?”

For the first time I saw him smile. It was not a happy smile, nor did it transform his twisted face into a handsome countenance, but it rendered him a good deal more attractive nevertheless.

“You are astute. Very well, you entice me very much.”

I had expected an answer along those lines, my dear Arabella, but not quite as forthright as this and I was speechless for a moment. I forgot I am not a chit of a girl anymore and blushed. An ordinary man would have apologised for such behaviour, but not he, and I quickly regained my composure.

“And now you are offering to be my knight in shining armour?”

I laughed when I said it to show him I didn’t take it seriously, but he did not laugh with me.

“No,” he said after some consideration. “ I am merely offering my help should you need it. ”He then produced a letter and gave it to me. It was plain, unaddressed and sealed and felt heavier than it ought to be. “I suggest you carry it with you, my lady, and all you have to do if you need my help is to put it into a burning flame.”

I weighed the letter in my hand and suddenly I wondered what would happen if I threw it in the fireplace in my room late at night when I was all alone. I think he must have read my mind because he lips curved in a decidedly ironic way and he added;

“It’s not meant to be used frivolously.”

I blushed a little again because even if I am not bothered by much that a proper lady should be bothered about any more, it’s still embarrassingly intimate to have one's thoughts understood so readily.

My dearest friend, I hope my candid words haven’t embarrassed you, but I find I no longer care much for the conventions and rules demanded of our sex. I have been silenced all my life, by illness and by enchantment and now I will speak my mind. People have already thought me mad for years after all. But I don’t think I will shock you too much, because you understand me better than anyone else, except perhaps for dear, faithful Stephen who shared my imprisonment even longer than you did.

There, in my drawing-room with this strange man, I could not help thinking what it would be like to be loved by him. You, I am sure, have never had reason to think such thoughts as you married a man you adored. But I didn't love Sir Walter, even if he was always kind and I liked him well enough. As for Lost-Hope and the Gentleman; what happened there I will not think about. But it occurred to me that Childermass’ love would be dark and tender at the same time and I shivered in my chair. I am sure you will not remind me of his low birth and that I am still married though I will never sleep in Sir Walter’s bed again, because I know it all very well. And have no fear, even though I am more daring now, I did not speak to Childermass about it, even if you probably think I was still much too forward in my answer. No doubt we exchanged words that can be described in no other way than scandalous.

“And what would you do if I handled your gift in such a careless manner?”

Suddenly his eyes danced with mirth. “I believe I would have to scold you, my lady.”

I was sorely tempted to ask him to elaborate on what a scolding from him would entail, but instead I rose and thanked him for his kindness.

He told me to think nothing of it and made to depart and I gave him my hand as I had done once before when he gave me my finger back. A gentleman would have kissed it, but he is not one and he merely covered it with his other hand for a moment. His hands were very warm and from it a heat spread through my whole body and now, hours later, I still feel like I have been set on fire. And, though he told me I had to be wary of people who may wish me harm, I am in very high spirits. Instead of worrying my thoughts return to Mr Childermass’ person. He seems to be a man of disheveled appearance and a rough nature, but that is merely the surface. I noticed his clothes were spotless, if worn and old, and his linen would not shame Beau Brummel. And though it seems he cares little about other humans, he was prepared to sacrifice his life for the detestable Mr Norrell, and now he has, unbid, come to my aid twice.

And there you have my curious afternoon. What do you say about it, Arabella? I wasn’t mad before, but perhaps I am a little mad now. I must see him again, he has a mind like no other man, and I am tempted to put the letter to the fire regardless of what he said. Write to me quickly and tell me all the good reasons for not burning the letter Mr Childermass gave me, and to put my strange thoughts about him away. My own voice of reason seems to have deserted me, so I rely on yours.

Your loving friend,

Emma Pole


	2. Chapter 2

Dear Arabella,

Your letter, and concerns reached me yesterday. I can assure you there is no cause to worry. I have not burnt Childermass’ letter, and I will not do so. As you so rightly point out, he is not difficult to reach in other, more conventional means. And though our encounter still makes me feel very strange, I have overcome the urge to do anything reckless, at least for the moment.

I must confess your advice I should learn more about magic, at first made me bristle. You know how much I detest it. However. But an event which transpired today has made me think I should follow your advice as quickly as possible.

I was taking my air by noon, feeling vexed. I had quarrelled with Sir Walter at breakfast, which always upsets me. He has agreed, though he doesn’t like it, to let me retire to the countryside. But I want him to divorce me, and he refuses. I can see the hope in his eyes I will relent and return to him. But I am no longer fit to be a politician’s wife, and part of me can’t help resent him for not understanding my plight, but thinking me mad instead. And the divorce is for his sake, not mine. I have no plans to remarry, but if he was free he could, and have those sons I know he longs for in his hearts and hearts. But he doesn’t see it that way, and that is why we quarrelled.

I was walking fast and not minding my surroundings, but suddenly two little beggar girls stepped out in front of me, and I had to stop lest I would have tripped over them. I have not seen such miserable creatures in a long while. Clad in rags, small and stick-thin they stood with their arms wrapped around each other as if to find a little warmth in the embrace. They were so alike in size and features they must have been twins, and so faded there were hardly any colour in them at all. They looked so poor and cold my heart constricted in my chest with pity.

But when I reached for my purse, I saw how unnaturally large their eyes were, and with an odd silverish cast to them. And when they smiled I saw their teeth. Tiny, sharp slivers, like fish teeth crowded their mouths, and I knew those children were not human. For a moment I did not know what to do. My heart told me they were truly needed help, but I also knew I couldn’t give them anything or they could gain power over me. They might not even been fairy children, but an illusion brought by something far more frightening. Then an idea struck me, and I asked them if they knew the way to Lost-Hope. They huddled together, suddenly frightened, but then they nodded. So I told them to go to the new king there, and to say I had sent them. The children did not look happy, but then they nodded again, and in a blink of an eye they were gone.

I think I did the best I could for them without compromising myself. I sent them away without promises which could bind me to them, but I also know Stephen will not turn them away if they truly need help. He is a kind man, and if they are in need, he will not turn them away.

But though I don’t think the children meant me any harm, I still felt, and feel, frightened. I don’t know what will come next, and when it comes, it’s unlikely to be as easy to dispel. I need to be better prepared, or I might find myself dragged back into Faerie again. I will write to Mr Childermass to ask his advice on how to proceed; he has already offered me his help, and I think he is the best person to consult in such matter. I loathe the idea of immersing myself in more magic, but needs must, and I will do what I have to do to ensure my safety.

I’m afraid this was not a very uplifting letter, my dear friend, when in truth there are much to be happy over as well. I have yet to tell me of my new wardrobe, and how I have secured Mr Segundus help in finding me a suitable house. I also need to comment on your own adventures, but I think I will address all of this in another letter. I feel it will be best to keep the subject of magic apart from other matters; and perhaps it will be best if you burned them, or at least keep them where only you can read them.

In haste, but with love,

Emma


	3. Chapter 3

Dear Arabella,

I am still in York, somewhat exhausted after looking at several more or less suitable houses. Mr Segundus has been very helpful, and I’m now strongly considering taking a house called Rosehill for at least a year. I promise I will delve into further details when I write you again, but it is spacious enough without being too grand, and not crowded by other houses. I prefer my future neighbours to not be too close.

I have been debating with myself if I should do yet another errand while in York, and yesterday I acted upon it. As you know I have been in correspondence with Mr Childermass about my magical problem, and though there is yet no solution in sight, I have found his advice helpful. But we have not met since the day of his unexpected visit even if I have returned to our conversation again and again in my mind. There are things I wanted to say to him I haven’t been able to put into a letter, so I made him a visit on my own. I know you are frowning a little now, my dear, but you may as well wait; I am sure you will find more to frown about before long.

Mr Childermass lives in a part of York I wouldn’t call low, but it’s not somewhere the better sort lives either. I was pleased to notice there was no landlady to welcome or hinder me. I thought perhaps Mr Childermass’ cards had told him of my intended visit, but I think not, as he opened the door in his shirtsleeves. Nevertheless he did not seem surprised to see me and stepped aside to let me in. The room was of a goodish size, but with furniture of no particular style, placed with little care of what would be most pleasing. I don’t think he spends much thought on his surroundings though everything were neat and clean. I wasn't surprised to see books everywhere and an assortment of quills and inks on the desk. A half-open door provided a glimpse of a bedchamber, its bed made-up neatly. I couldn’t help wondering if Mr Childermass keeps his bed linen as fine and clean as his shirts, a thought which made me a little short of breath.

There was a fire burning, and the room was pleasantly warm, and the two chairs in front of the fireplace, looked like they made up in comfort what they lacked in style. I must have disturbed Mr Childermass there, because there was an open book on a small table by one chair along with a small glass of port. He motioned to me to sit and poured a glass for me. Then he sat down, excused himself and picked up the book and started to read. Undoubtedly you will say it was unforgivable rude of him, but I have never liked being disturbed in the middle of a chapter myself. It’s like being interrupted when you speak and in both cases it is always difficult to find your way back. So I looked into the fire and tasted the port. I was not surprised to find that even if the glass was simple; the drink was excellent, as so much seems to be with Mr. Childermass.

It was restful sitting in front of the fire in companionable silence, and I felt content in a way I can not recall I have ever felt before. Sir Walter could never abide silence and always talked with me. He was often interesting or amusing, but it could also be tiresome. Now I thought it was a fine thing to not have to speak with someone and still feel at ease. I watched Mr Childermass as he read, noting he didn’t look so shabby out of his old coat. I think no one would call him handsome under any circumstances, but he is still an interesting man to look at. And I thought how, underneath his shirt, there must be a scar of my doing. I wondered what it looked like, and if it caused him any pain or other discomfort. When he put down his book, I almost asked him if I could see it, but instead I said.

“Would you like to kiss me, Mr Childermass.” (See, I told you you would frown more)

He didn’t look shocked by my words, and I don’t think he was, either.

“I would like it very much, Lady Pole.”

“And I would like to kiss you. But I need you to answer a question first. You told me I attract magic, and you know I have seen that for myself now. And you yourself is a magician which means this enchantment ought to affect you too. So are you sure you want to kiss me by your own free will?”

He thought about it, and I could see he disliked the idea of being under a spell. I don’t think he is a man who like to admit he is not completely in charge of himself. Then he spoke in a reluctant manner which confirmed my assumption was correct.

“No, I can’t be sure.”

I rose. “I thought so. I know you will understand why I take my leave now. I know how it feels to have your feelings dictated not by your heart, but by magic. You may smile, but still never stop screaming inside. I will allow no one else to suffer like me even if this enchantment is not of my doing.”

Mr Childermass nodded and. “Of course, Lady Pole. But when this spell is broken, I hope you will ask me again.”

I didn’t give him my hand when I took my leave as I feared I would be undone by touching him, and Mr Childermass didn’t offer me his.

“Do you still have my letter?” he asked as I was leaving.

I patted my reticule. “I always carry it with me.”

“Good.”

And then I left. I know you feel relief I didn’t compromise myself, but I felt none. I’m glad I didn’t stay, but only because I detest the thought of forcing anyone with magic. I am now more determined than ever to find a way out of this enchantment. And I have a few notions of what could be done! But I don’t feel prepared to share them yet as I’m ridiculously afraid talking about them could somehow hex them.

Yours, as ever, loving friend  
Emma Pole


	4. Chapter 4

Dearest Arabella,

I fear the content of this letter will alarm you, but keep in mind I am writing this safe and secure, even if the last few days have been full of dramatic events.

Rosehill is a charming house, and I have continued to settle down. The walled garden is full of roses, but I suspect it’s the overabundance of wild roses all over the hills around the house is behind the name. They are in full bloom now, and it is beautiful.

I was taking a stroll around the garden an evening three days past. Suddenly I heard someone calling my name, and when I looked around, I saw Mr Childermass standing outside a side gate. It’s made wrought iron, but little can be seen of it as the wild roses has almost covered it. I don’t think it’s possible to open, and I was smiling as I called out to him to come in by the main gate which was standing wide open. But he remained at the closed gate, and as I came closer, it struck me he called me by my first name, and how strange that was. I have never asked Mr Childermass to call me Emma, and he has never taken the liberty. It was also odd of him to propose to enter by a gate which anyone could see had not been opened in years.

When I came close, he called out again. “Emma, let me inside.”

“Mr Childermass,” I said, rather irritated by his forwardness. “The front gate is open. You only have to go around the corner to find it.”

“No,” he answered. “It has to be through this gate.”

He was almost completely obscured by the flowering roses, and I stepped closer, lifting my hand to move some of the long supple canes aside. As I did so my fingers brushed against the cold iron of the gate, and suddenly I saw it was not Mr Childermass who was standing there. It was a man I had never seen before, a man with such a handsome countenance I knew at once he could not be human. He was clad in green silk which shifted to pink as he moved, and his eyes were green as well. Fear filled me and I nearly fled before I realised he could not get in. Someone must have barred his entry with an iron gate a long time ago, and as mistress of the house, it was up to me to bid him enter.

I told him to go away, and that I wanted naught of his kind, but the Faerie man only continued to plead with me. He promised to fulfill my every wish if I let him in, his words falling quickly from his lips. At first, he still sounded like Mr Childermass, but as he spoke his voice changed. It grew strangely quiet, like the wind rustling through leaves, but I could still every word. I said nothing more and left, his voice still murmuring in my ears until I was inside. And though I had taken care to walk slowly, I found my heart was beating as if I had been running for my life. I always knew I would attract something stronger and more dangerous than the little twins I sent to Stephen, but I had still hoped I would free myself before it happened.

The chances this would be the only and last encounter was, I knew, slim, but I decided to not let it get to me. Since moving here I have discovered a penchant for gardening, and as the next morning was bright and warm, I spent it with my head gardener, Mr Greenwood. (And isn’t that the most fitting name for a gardener?) I know he is secretly amused by my ignorance, but he also approves of my enthusiasm and has proved to be a patent teacher. I could be content with telling him what to plant, and where, but I feel you have to know how something work to truly understand it. So under Mr Greenwood's supervision, I weeded flower beds, learning what makes a weed and not a flower. Suddenly there was a strong pain in my left hand, and to my surprise, I found several long rose thorns embedded in my palm. As I removed the thorns, Mr Greenwood dug around where my hand had been and found a long thorny wild rose tendril. He expressed surprise as there had been none of those growing in the garden before. When he pulled at it, it lifted easily from the soil, and we found it had grown in a straight line from the side gate.

I went inside to have Pampisford clean and bandage my hand, feeling most uncomfortable. Some time later Mr Greenwood came to inform me these strange plant shoots were all over the garden, and he was very puzzled over the speed they were growing. But I know it was the man of roses and thorns and I knew it was magic behind them.

I slept poorly as I kept having dreams of the Faerie calling for me, still begging and nagging me to be let in. Then I woke up from a throbbing pain in my left hand, and I found it swollen and mis-coloured. And when Pampisford pulled apart, the curtains from my window I nearly screamed; almost the whole window was covered in flowering wild roses.

By this time I was frightened, and in considerable discomfort, as my hand grew steadily worse throughout the day. Immediately after breakfast, I wrote not only Mr Childermass but also Messrs Segundus and Honeyfoot about my plight. But though I was sure they would respond with speed, I also knew I could not expect any help until the next day. I spent the whole day indoors and Mr Greenwood and his boys worked diligently to remove the wild roses from the garden. But it they grew with an unnatural speed, and in the early evening, they found their way in through the kitchen door, causing the kitchen maid to quit on the spot. She said she could not abide magic and I cannot fault her for that. I would have liked to leave too, only I was afraid to step outside the garden.

By evening I was feverish and when the bandage was unwound from my hand, the wound had blackened, and the swelling was even larger. I could not bear the lightest touch and refused to let it be bandaged again. Pampisford was quite put out with me for not wanting a doctor, but as I was convinced the wound was magical, I didn’t think a doctor could be of any help at all.

Sleep refused me as my hand gave me no rest. As I lay in bed, I could hear the rustling of the growing rose canes, and as it grew louder, I could hear the Faerie man’s voice in it. It promised me love and to heal my hand, and everything I could ever want, if I only invited him in. Despite the pain, I was not tempted. I know far too well that a fairy’s promise always comes with a catch. Then something tickled my neck, and to my horror, I realised the canes had found their way into my bedchamber. They were in full bloom, but among the flowers were thorns, wickedly long and sharp.

You probably already wonder why I had not made use of Mr Childermass letter, but until now I had thought myself safe in my bedchamber. But I always keep the litter close, and now I took it and jumped out of bed. It should have been an easy few steps to thrust it into the glowing ember of the fireplace, but I found myself hindered by the wild roses. At my first step they lashed out at me, the thorns tearing at my nightgown, and then the thorns pierced my skin. I could feel the sharp pricks on arms and legs, and blood trickling from many small cuts. My every moment we met with new assaults, and my way through the room was slow and arduous. I was almost by the fireplace when I stumbled and fell down on my knees, and I realized one thorny stalk had wound itself around my ankles. But I flung myself forward and threw the letter into the fireplace, fervently hoping the cinders would still be hot enough to set the letter on fire.

For a moment nothing happened, but then the letter burst into flames. The fire grew high and white and without heat, and from it, Mr Childermass stepped into the room, as calmly as if he had entered by any ordinary means. I was half delirious from pain and fear, but I still had the presence of mind to stretch my wounded hand towards him. I didn’t know what could be done about it, but I knew it was the root of this terrible ordeal.

Mr Childermass gave my hand a quick glance and produced a small knife which looked wickedly sharp. Before I could react, he seized my hand and cut straight through the swelling. It hurt, but it was a clean hurt, and blood and pus welled forward. Mr Childermass looked closer at the wound and swore. I usually can’t abide profanity, and I will not repeat what he said, but despite his roughness, I had never heard him swear before. I believe it was only a result of the unusual situation and decided not to take offense. I could also see what he saw; something embedded deep into my flesh. Mr Childermass took his handkerchief, so he didn’t touch it directly and pulled out a thorn. It was far larger than any of the thorns I had pulled out myself, and I had a terrible feeling it had grown inside my hand. He flung it and the handkerchief into the fire, and again the fire flared up, but now it grew hot, before it died down, and as the flames went out, I could hear screaming inside my mind.

When the screaming stopped I realised all the wild roses were gone without a trace. And my skin was no longer trashed by thorns, and my nightgown was whole again. Only my hand was still bleeding though it already hurt less than it had. I was in no condition to move, but Mr Childermass lifted me into a chair and set out to take care of my hand before he carried me to my bed. I was too exhausted to speak, and could only thank him for his help in few and inadequate words. I feel asleep almost at once, and the last thing I noticed was him taking my good hand and holding it with an unexpected tenderness.

I slept soundly and felt unexpectedly rested when Pampisford entered the room. Only then did it struck me she had slept through the drama of the night, and she is usually a light sleeper. She was so pleased with my improvement she failed to notice the new bandages, and of Mr Childermass there was no trace.

I have spent the morning writing this letter to you, and a few minutes ago Pampisford told me Messrs Childermass, Segundus and Honeyfoot have come to call on me. I have much to speak with them about, so I will send this to you with a promise to write again soon.

With all my love,  
Emma


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait. Hopefully, the last chapter will be up not too long after this one.

Dear Arabella,

Much has happened since my last letter though not much more time than a day has passed. But don’t fret, once again I am writing from the safety of my room, even if recent events have not lacked excitement. And I have news for you, but I won’t say more until the end of the letter. I’m not above holding out the suspense for a few more pages, though I suppose nothing can stop you from reading the end first. But please don’t, my dear, let me tell you my story in the right order.

As you know Messrs Childermass, Segundus and Honeyfoot had arrived, and I was eager to see them. When I walked downstairs, I realised Mr Childermass had not demanded an explanation last night, though he knew only a little of what had happened and I know he has a curious mind. I vastly appreciated his consideration to my distressed state, but it made me even more eager to explain myself.

I had rightly supposed Mr Childermass had told the others of the night, and I quickly explained what had happened in the previous days. I then acquainted them with my theory of what could free me from my enchantment. I was finally ready to tell them, and now also you.

I found my idea in a fairy tale where a princess had been enchanted into the shape of a large snake. What broke the spell was three baths, one filled with wine, one with milk and one with water, and it struck me it could work for my predicament. I have no skins to shed, but it is an enchantment which seems to cling to my body. It’s a magical residue which lingers to my person, and the more I thought about it, the more it made sense it was something I could wash off. And, though I hated the very thought, I strongly felt I needed to go back to Lost-Hope as the first step toward my freedom. I can’t explain why, but the feeling only grew and would not be dispelled. This also meant I had to travel on the King’s Road, which I did not know how to open myself. For that, I needed help from my friends.

I was sure protests would meet my theory, and it was; both Mr Segundus and Mr Honeyfoot were very vocal over how bad they thought my idea was. Well, perhaps not my idea as such, but the way I proposed to act; by going on my own. But Mr Childermass said nothing. He only crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, waiting for me to finish.

“My friends,” I said. “You have been my saviours, but now I must save myself. You may not like it, but I feel in my heart I’m the only one who can do this. But I still need your support and friendship, and I hope you will give it to me.”

There were more protests though more feeble, and in the end, I won them over.

I re-read what I have written here above, and it strikes me I sound calm and confident. But let me tell you, my dear friend, I was so scared it was only force of will which stopped me from breaking down. The idea I needed to return to Lost-Hope had been slow to form, and something I had struggled with for many weeks. It was my prison for so many years; host to so many of my miseries, and now I was to return there voluntarily. I can readily tell you the thought of going back made my heart beat fast and hard, and my mouth grew dry from sheer terror.

It was not, as I had both feared and hoped, difficult to open the road. I addressed my friends with instructions of what I needed on my return, but when I was about to step into the mirror, Mr Childermass was suddenly at my side.

“You need not go alone,” he said,

“It’s my undertaking.”

“I know. But it doesn’t have to mean you must walk in solitude. I propose to be your companion only, not your champion.”

I looked at him, and I saw it was not doubt of my abilities which made him give me the offer, and I was glad to have his company. I took his hand and stepped forward, into the mirror, the world changing around us. I cannot properly describe how it was to walk the King’s Road. I think it is different for any who set their feet there, and I’m not even sure Mr Childermass and I always saw the same things. We did not speak much, but I’m sure we were both afraid. To have Mr Childermass hand around mine was a comfort, and I believe he felt the same.

One thing I know we both saw. At one point we walked along the edge of a dense forest, and at a crossroads, we were hailed by a knight. He insisted we were to leave the road we were walking on and to come and fight him. At the sound of his voice, Mr Childermass stopped dead in his tracks. With a very peculiar look on his face, he touched the scar on his cheek, before urging me to walk on. The knight seemed unable to leave his own path, but as long as we could hear him he continued to call after us. I asked Mr Childermass if he was acquainted with this creature, and he said he believed he was, but did not embellish the story. I had in mind to ask more, but the odd mixture of contempt and pity on his face stopped me.

It is impossible to tell how time passed; perhaps we walked for days. (But when we returned, we had only been away for a scant half hour.) I can’t recall ever having to walk to Lost-Hope before, but I know it as soon as I saw it. The doors were unlocked before we could knock, swung open by two little girls. They were plump, pretty little things, but very pale, only the merest hint of yellow in their hair, blue in their eyes and the faintest of blushes on their cheeks and lips. They smiled at us with fish-sharp teeth and I realised they were my little beggar girls. It made me happy to see them so changed, and happy to know I was right, and there was no ill-will in them. They seemed delighted to see me, and took my hands, leading me into the castle, with Mr Childermass trailing behind. Lost-Hope is much changed now, so changed it could be another place with, every surface clean and polished. The windows had no cobwebs obscuring the glass, and every passage and room was brightly lit. It is now a pretty place, and it is clear Stephen has not been idle.

They brought us to a grand throne room, and not, I am grateful to say, to the ballroom where I spent so many years dancing. It was filled with people, and not all of them looked friendly, but I did not think much of it as I was eager to meet Stephen again. He sat on the throne and I would like to say he had not changed at all because he was always a man of great dignity, but one look told me he’s a king in truth now. My mother once nourished a dream I was to be presented at court. It was a dream destined to never be fulfilled, but she still hired a dance master to teach me the proper curtsey to greet a king. I never thought I would have any use for that knowledge, but now I curtsied deep, grateful for those lessons long ago. Mr Childermass bowed slightly, but with a respect I have never seen him show anyone before.

But Stephen stepped down from his throne and, took both of my hands and pulled me up. In his face I could see the same delight I felt to see my dear friend again. I am sure he, as well as I, have never thought we would meet again. He took us to an antechamber, away from his courtiers and seemed a little bit more like the old Stephen. He listened, quite gravely to my tale, and he nodded in agreement when it was ended.

“Yes, I can see the enchantment on you. I believe you have come to the right conclusion, and I will be happy to assist you.”

Accompanied by the little girls who seem to be Stephen’s personal attendants, we all went down into the wine cellars. I had never been there before; vast chambers filled with bottles and barrels. It was easy to arrange for a barrel to be opened, and with a small gesture, Stephen even conjured small steps for me to aid me. Only then did it struck me I might need to do something more, like a spell, but then I thought I should just follow my instinct and just step into the wine.

It suddenly seemed a ridiculous idea to immerse myself into a barrel of wine, but with as much dignity I could muster, and with Stephen offering his hand as support, I proceeded to my task with, I believe, some grace. The wine was neither hot nor cold, but it was not a pleasant affair to bathe in it. Especially since I needed to get my head under the surface too. I broke the surface with an unpleasant feeling I was getting wine into every crevice of my body. (I refrained to complain about it loudly, but I can mention it to you, dear.) And my dress was a mess! But I stepped out, dripping wet, red and sticky, and when I was standing on the floor again Mr Childermass pointed at the barrel.

“Look!”

We all looked, and there, just under the surface, we saw a shape looking just like myself. It looked solid at first glance, but under our very eyes, it dissolved and disappeared. And I felt different- lighter if you will, and I did not need Stephen and Mr Childermass reassurances that the enchantment had grown weaker to know it had worked.

We took our farewells quickly. I was sad because I had missed Stephen so much, and it would have been nice to spend some time with him again. I had so many questions about his new life, but I felt I need to remove my person from any magical surroundings as soon as possible. After all, I had come to get rid of an enchantment and not risk picking up a new one.

The road back did not look the same, and I was very grateful it also seemed to be shorter, as I was still very damp. Stephen had kindly offered to dry my clothes with a spell, but I declined for the same reason I wanted to leave as soon as possible. The look on Mr Segundus and Mr Honeyfoot face when I stepped out of the mirror almost made me laugh; but then I saw myself in it when the road closed, and I don’t believe I have ever looked more bedraggled in my life. And when Pampisford saw me she nearly fainted. My poor Pampisford; I fear she is not very happy with me at the moment! But despite this, she helped me undress and would have helped me into the bath too, if I had not sent her away. I don’t think she would have coped with more magic.

The milk bath was a much more pleasant experience than the one with wine, especially as there was plenty of warm water to rinse myself in after. And when I emerged from the milk, I could clearly see myself again, as a shed skin in the liquid, though this time it seemed less dense and it disappeared quickly.

The last bath was the hardest one. We agreed that nothing would do than a living stream, and luckily there is one only a mile from Rosehill. But although the day was warm, I knew the streaming water would be cold, and I never learned to swim.

Mr Childermass, very efficiently, took charge of preparing a carriage with fur throws and a foot stove. I would have preferred to go alone with him, but Mr Segundus and Honeyfoot were so keen to see the enchantment lifted that I could not deny them. I was also not keen to have another dress ruined even if I took care to take my oldest one this time. But needs must, and the thought I would soon be rid of this tiresome enchantment overshadowed any other feeling.

The water was as cold as I had feared; I trudged on until the water reached my waist. I could feel the water tugging at me, but not so hard I lost my footing. What was hardest was the bitter cold which had my teeth chattering in my mouth, but I steeled myself and dipped myself in the water. When I stood up, I could see the last version of myself, almost transparent now, float away in the streaming water. And I could feel it; something was gone though it is hard to say exactly what. A little it feels like I have carried a heavy burden for so long I was not aware of the weight, not until I no longer had to carry it.

When I stepped ashore Mr Childermass was there to wrap a fur around me, and I was grateful because by then my limbs felt frozen. He also had me drink several sips of brandy. I dislike the taste, but it helped to dispel some of the cold. But despite the precautions taken and the short trip back, I was still feeling very cold. I was feeling quite unwell when I stepped out of the carriage, and despite the hot bath Pampisford had waiting for me, I still feel it. In fact, I feel very odd; tired and with a headache growing that I fear I’m falling ill. In fact, I feel much worse now than when I first started to write this letter. Pampisford is hovering and is threatening to take my quill away of I don’t stop writing now. I shall obey her because I’m very tired, but I knew I couldn’t rest until I had told it all to you

And I am free, Arabella! I’m finally free of Lost-Hope. If I hadn’t this wretched headache, I would be very happy right now.

Your friend, Emma.


	6. Chapter 6

My dearest friend,

So you are finally coming home! I can’t wait to see your dear face again and to hear from your lips every adventure you have had since we last saw each other. And for me to tell you everything I have not already penned down. And I look forward to meeting Miss Greysteel whom I already love for being such a good friend to you. I understand the Greysteels have invited you to continue to stay with them, but you know you have a home here too. And under any circumstances, you must at least come to visit! There is a room ready and waiting here for you!

As I predicted my adventures ended with a most dreadful cold. And do you know, I don’t think I ever had a cold in my life. I was always ill before, and then I was never ill at all. A common cold has been a novel if unpleasant, experience. I put myself under Pampisford’s tender mercies and have stoically endured all her remedies; even the strangest ones. I even allowed her to call a doctor, who, thankfully, seemed to find my ailment negligible. At least Pampisford seems to have forgiven me for the scandalous way (in her opinion) I contracted my cold.

Being confined to bed I sent my friends home again. There were certain things I wanted to discuss with Mr Childermass, but a sore throat and a running nose do not make one inclined for serious conversations. Though I wanted to talk with him with some urgency to settle what there is, or isn’t, between us, I had to wait. I can tell you that when Pampisford complained over me being fidgety and short-tempered when the cold finally gave up but I still had to endure a few more days of rest, it was not only because I was tired of being ill!

But the day before yesterday I felt fully restored again and went to York. I was very nervous. You can only ever be certain of your own heart, and even that can be difficult at times. In all my missives to you, I have never said I’m in love with Mr Childermass, because I have not known if that was what I was feeling.

I have never loved a man before. I found Sir Walter’s suit more than tolerable, but most of its appeal lay in the longing to become a woman instead of my mother’s daughter, and free from her views and smothering affections. Perhaps I would have learned to love him if we had been allowed to shape our marriage to suit us, but we never had the chance. I have read about love many times, but what I feel for Mr Childermass differs greatly from the chaste passions the star-crossed lovers professed in those books. At times I have thought my feelings only those of friendship, then I think of dear Segundus and Honeyfoot, both of which I hold in the deepest affection, and I realise what I feel for Mr Childermass can’t compare. He has been my good friend through all of this, but it is certainly not all I want.

But even if my heart spoke more clearly I could not, however much I wanted to, be certain if Mr Childermass feelings for me was only the result of the enchantment. Many times while I recuperated I thought it must be so. He came to my aid because he is a decent man who, I believe, will always try to help those in need, even if his outward character seems so indifferent. Perhaps it was bolstered by the effect of the enchantment, and if so it was the only good thing which came out of it. But I could not know if he still held me in any affection. Respect and friendship I think I will always have, but it was not the only thing I wanted from him, and I was terrified polite indifference would greet me on our next meeting.

I went to York in a state of some agitation; but also determination. I felt that regardless of the outcome it would be a relief to know for certain, be it good or bad. But in the end, my fears came to naught. Mr Childermass must have known I was coming this time because he opened the door before I had even raised my hand to knock. For a moment we looked at each other; my tongue refusing to say words I had rehearsed. I reached out my hand instead; he took it, and suddenly I was in his arms. I did not need to ask if he still wanted to kiss me before I was kissed. I did not know a kiss could make you burn like that.

And now, darling Arabella, I know your face is burning. Fear not, my forthrightness does not extend to a more detailed description of what happened next. I will only say I could find no faults about the state of Mr Childermass sheets.

I’m happy. Happier than I can ever recall being before. Dear friend, I know a liason like this offends all your moral sensibilities, but I’m sure you can feel a little happiness in it, for my sake. It will remain a secret, one only you are privy of, and I have no wish to cause a scandal. Even if I one day would be free to marry again, I won’t. To live my life on my own terms is a luxury I will not grow tired of. And I’m busy to live it! I have decided to make an offer to buy Rosehill, and I have grand plans for the garden. And though I have come to it with much reluctance, I have to admit I have a knack for magic after all, and I still have much to learn. I only want to share a portion of my time with a man I love and who love me in return. To be with someone I can be silent with, or not, and both will be equally pleasurable. And as Mr Childermass has no hankering for the married life either, and is quite busy with his own life, I think we will suit each other very well.

This will be my last letter to you before you return. Hurry up, my dear, hurry. We have so much to talk about, and so much to do. Between us we have plenty of accomplishments, and we will have the help and support of several capable magicians. We will find a way to get Mr Strange home to you again, of that I am sure.

Farewell my dear, until we see each other again.

Emma.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m sure the idea of freeing someone from an enchantment by dipping them three times, can be found in several fairy tales, but my idea comes from a Swedish version of Cinderella. It’s quite different from other versions. Cinderella gets her ball clothes from a tree growing on her mother’s grave, and she goes to three balls, and her shoes are made of silver, gold and last of precious stones. And there is only one step-sister, who, when Cinderella gets the prince, makes up with Cinderella. It also doesn’t end with the wedding. In this story they get a child, and during a sea voyage the step-sister, who is really a witch, pushes Cinderella into the sea and enchants herself so she looks like Cinderella. Though no one notice the prince suddenly don’t feel happy anymore, the baby can’t stop crying and Cinderellas little dog tries to bite his mistress.
> 
> Back in the castle the nursemaid wakes up one night by the sound of chains and the real Cinderella, wet and chained, steps into the nursery. She kisses the baby and tells it she can only come twice more before she has to marry the sea goblin. Then the chains rattle and pulls her back into the water. The nursemaid tells the prince, who stays in the nursery the next night to see for himself. The next day he goes to a wise woman for help, and she instructs him to don a pair of iron gloves and prepare three baths with wine, milk and water, and to dip his wife. When the prince grabs Cinderella she transforms into a sea snake, but the prince manages to dip her, and for every dip, one of the snake’s skins fall of. After the last dip he has his Cinderella back and unenchanted.


End file.
